REPOST - dS - A Perfect Lie
due South
A Perfect Lie
RayK/Fraser
Sometimes when Fraser’s lacing up his boots and the shoelaces snap, he knots them instead of going through his belongings and finding an entirely new set to re-lace his boots all over again; and some nights he doesn't polish his boots before he goes to bed. On occasion he wears the same henley two days in a row because he's foolishly forgotten to do his laundry, and not often, but every now and then, he has to struggle to be polite to people who he suspects are undeserving. He thinks it's wrong -- correction: Fraser knows it's wrong, because who is he to judge his fellow man or woman, but he can’t help himself.
He has opinions and thoughts and annoyances.
He has pet peeves.
Sometimes he cuts corners that he knows no one will see but him, but of course these things irritate him all day long because he knows he's not presenting the perfect picture of a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Sometimes though, it's really hard being perfect.
Sometimes Fraser falls a little short.
*
Other people don’t see his shortcomings the way he does, he can tell. The citizens of Chicago see the tall guy in the funny red suit and they see his "Canadian-ness," but they don’t think or care about how he doesn’t really fit in. He’s perfect enough; they just want him around when they need him and then out of sight until he’s required again, like a mop or a broom.
It's fairly plain to Fraser that Inspector Thatcher sees him as a Mountie-on-call, a bit like a convenience store, but what Francesca sees is really anyone’s guess. Fraser suspects that he’s been put on a pedestal as a shining prince in red armor, which is terribly laughable as he has no kingdom, no horse, and as much as he likes Francesca he’s not looking to sled off into the sunset with her.
When he looks at her, he can see that she’s not seeing the tired lines around his eyes or the tiny scratches on his knuckles. She sees perfection; but when he looks in the mirror at night he sees a bullet wound three inches to the right of his spine.
The Inspector and Francesca don’t see him when he’s alone in his office thinking about vast open spaces and tiny cabins outside of Yellowknife. It never crosses their minds that he might be lonely. It's highly doubtful that they think he might want something else than just this day-to-day life of avoiding people with groping hands and pretending that everything is okay when it’s not.
Perfect people don’t have problems, and Mounties are perfection.
*
His father says, “Perfect is as perfect does.”
Fraser thinks his father is thinking of another platitude, something to do with prettiness.
His father makes a loud noise of derision. “Mounties aren't supposed to be pretty, son,” he says. “They're supposed to get the job done.”
*
Prevaricator.
Deceiver.
Liar.
A shell for something that doesn’t really exist.
Fraser’s a fraud, and no one seems to see it except for Diefenbaker and his father... and Ray.
Ray always seems to catch Fraser with the façade down and a frown on his face or a bitter word on his lips when he should know better. Ray’s there with a laugh and a sweatshirt when Fraser manages to get soup on his sweater, and on that one occasion out of a hundred when Fraser leaps and misses his landing, Ray’s there to help him up.
Ray sees Fraser with wet hair and a grimace on his face and something cold and clammy slipping down the neck of his serge, and he doesn’t seem to care.
Of all the people that Fraser wants to be perfect for, Ray is at the top of his list, and when Ray helps him off the ground and wipes at the dirt smeared on the side of his face, it’s all Fraser can do not to raise his voice and plead for Ray to go away. Because Ray’s fingers are stroking his face and slipping into his hairline, and Fraser wants to kiss him, but this isn’t how he’s planned for it to go at all.
“This isn’t the good time,” he says, turning into the curve of Ray’s hand anyway.
“No such thing as a good time,” Ray says. “Unless you mean the kind that comes with a six-pack and a hockey game.”
“This isn’t the right time,” he clarifies, even as he finds himself licking at Ray’s palm unabashedly.
“No such thing as the right time either, Frase.”
Ray's fingers tighten in his hair and draw Fraser forward.
“I wanted - I thought I could make it better," Fraser says, resting his forehead against Ray's. "Perfect. I wanted to be perfect.”
“I don’t want perfect,” Ray says. “You’ll do just fine.”
-end-
A Perfect Lie
RayK/Fraser
Sometimes when Fraser’s lacing up his boots and the shoelaces snap, he knots them instead of going through his belongings and finding an entirely new set to re-lace his boots all over again; and some nights he doesn't polish his boots before he goes to bed. On occasion he wears the same henley two days in a row because he's foolishly forgotten to do his laundry, and not often, but every now and then, he has to struggle to be polite to people who he suspects are undeserving. He thinks it's wrong -- correction: Fraser knows it's wrong, because who is he to judge his fellow man or woman, but he can’t help himself.
He has opinions and thoughts and annoyances.
He has pet peeves.
Sometimes he cuts corners that he knows no one will see but him, but of course these things irritate him all day long because he knows he's not presenting the perfect picture of a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Sometimes though, it's really hard being perfect.
Sometimes Fraser falls a little short.
*
Other people don’t see his shortcomings the way he does, he can tell. The citizens of Chicago see the tall guy in the funny red suit and they see his "Canadian-ness," but they don’t think or care about how he doesn’t really fit in. He’s perfect enough; they just want him around when they need him and then out of sight until he’s required again, like a mop or a broom.
It's fairly plain to Fraser that Inspector Thatcher sees him as a Mountie-on-call, a bit like a convenience store, but what Francesca sees is really anyone’s guess. Fraser suspects that he’s been put on a pedestal as a shining prince in red armor, which is terribly laughable as he has no kingdom, no horse, and as much as he likes Francesca he’s not looking to sled off into the sunset with her.
When he looks at her, he can see that she’s not seeing the tired lines around his eyes or the tiny scratches on his knuckles. She sees perfection; but when he looks in the mirror at night he sees a bullet wound three inches to the right of his spine.
The Inspector and Francesca don’t see him when he’s alone in his office thinking about vast open spaces and tiny cabins outside of Yellowknife. It never crosses their minds that he might be lonely. It's highly doubtful that they think he might want something else than just this day-to-day life of avoiding people with groping hands and pretending that everything is okay when it’s not.
Perfect people don’t have problems, and Mounties are perfection.
*
His father says, “Perfect is as perfect does.”
Fraser thinks his father is thinking of another platitude, something to do with prettiness.
His father makes a loud noise of derision. “Mounties aren't supposed to be pretty, son,” he says. “They're supposed to get the job done.”
*
Prevaricator.
Deceiver.
Liar.
A shell for something that doesn’t really exist.
Fraser’s a fraud, and no one seems to see it except for Diefenbaker and his father... and Ray.
Ray always seems to catch Fraser with the façade down and a frown on his face or a bitter word on his lips when he should know better. Ray’s there with a laugh and a sweatshirt when Fraser manages to get soup on his sweater, and on that one occasion out of a hundred when Fraser leaps and misses his landing, Ray’s there to help him up.
Ray sees Fraser with wet hair and a grimace on his face and something cold and clammy slipping down the neck of his serge, and he doesn’t seem to care.
Of all the people that Fraser wants to be perfect for, Ray is at the top of his list, and when Ray helps him off the ground and wipes at the dirt smeared on the side of his face, it’s all Fraser can do not to raise his voice and plead for Ray to go away. Because Ray’s fingers are stroking his face and slipping into his hairline, and Fraser wants to kiss him, but this isn’t how he’s planned for it to go at all.
“This isn’t the good time,” he says, turning into the curve of Ray’s hand anyway.
“No such thing as a good time,” Ray says. “Unless you mean the kind that comes with a six-pack and a hockey game.”
“This isn’t the right time,” he clarifies, even as he finds himself licking at Ray’s palm unabashedly.
“No such thing as the right time either, Frase.”
Ray's fingers tighten in his hair and draw Fraser forward.
“I wanted - I thought I could make it better," Fraser says, resting his forehead against Ray's. "Perfect. I wanted to be perfect.”
“I don’t want perfect,” Ray says. “You’ll do just fine.”
-end-